


Shadow Meets Sun

by sinestrated



Category: Bleach
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Murder Mystery, Thankfully without the murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 21:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15805236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinestrated/pseuds/sinestrated
Summary: When his lieutenant is brutally attacked, Byakuya sets himself to finding the culprit. As it turns out, Renji's would-be killer may be far closer to home than either one of them is comfortable with.





	Shadow Meets Sun

**Author's Note:**

> ByaRen is pretty much my terrible fandom ex-boyfriend. I'll go for months without sparing a thought for it, and then one day it'll come swinging back into my life all cocky and beautiful and before I know it I'm waking up naked next to it at noon the following morning, my head hurting something awful and desperately hoping that white powder on the nightstand isn't cocaine.
> 
> Fair warning: I've never read past the Arrancar arc in the manga. This fic takes place sometime during the timeskip.

Dawn was just beginning to break in pale pink streaks over the sleeping Seireitei when a scream pierced the silence.

The body of a man had been discovered, sprawled in a back alley near the outskirts of the commercial district. The shopkeeper who found him knew instantly he was a shinigami from the black uniform, cloth soaked through almost completely with blood. There was so much blood, in fact, that it took a moment for the terrified residents to notice that his hair was red.

#

Kuchiki Byakuya’s arrival at the Fourth Division was announced by a barely-audible whisper of  _ shunpo _ and a brief flare of reiatsu, quickly tightened and drawn into nothing. This was standard procedure; all shinigami lieutenant-level and above knew to keep their reiatsu under tight control here, lest they end up stressing the patients unnecessarily and invoking Unohana’s ire.

If any of the healers rushing busily about noticed that his reiatsu flickered in distress for the barest moment before being tightly bound by an iron will, they were too busy with their duties to care.

The captain of the Sixth marched down the hallways, destination already in mind: a glowing spirit signature currently aflame with panic and worry. It was not the telltale fiery, ash-tinged signature of his lieutenant, however. He rounded the final corner and found Kuchiki Rukia hovering just outside one of the rooms, hair a mess and uniform rumpled.

She straightened upon seeing him. “Niisama,” she whispered, and it came out choked as she stared at him, ghost-pale, entire body trembling. Without a word, Byakuya stepped forward and took her in his arms.

Rukia collapsed instantly into uncontrollable sobs, and she would have fallen to the floor if Byakuya hadn’t kept her supported, pressed to his chest as she shook. The door to the hospital room was closed, but he could sense two distinct signatures beyond the thin partition: Unohana Retsu and Isane Kotetsu, both warm and aglow with healing energy. It didn’t bode well that both of them had to be present here. It boded even worse that he couldn’t even sense the signature of the man they were working to save.

“How long have they been in there?” he asked.

Rukia sniffed. “Maybe half an hour. They were already working when I arrived. Niisama, is Renji...” The rest of the sentence ended in another half-sob, and Byakuya sighed, tightening his grip on his sister.

“He’s stronger than that, Rukia. You know this.”

It seemed to help because she nodded and quieted to sniffling. Byakuya wished it were so easy.

They stayed like that for what must have been only a few more minutes but felt like several months, waiting as the warmth of  _ kidou _ in the air slowly started to fade before disappearing completely. A few moments later, the door opened and a tired-looking Isane stepped out. “Oh, Captain. Kuchiki-san.”

Rukia was trying to wipe tears from her face, so Byakuya responded for both of them. “How is he, Lieutenant?”

Isane sighed. There were slight bruises forming beneath her eyes. “I’m not going to lie; it’s bad. It’s a miracle he was even still breathing when they found him in that alley.” Then she offered them a small smile. “But he’s stable now. If we’re careful, he’ll survive.”

Rukia gave a watery laugh and rushed to grasp Isane’s hands. Byakuya merely nodded and swept past her into the room.

A stately woman with long braided hair and kind eyes turned upon his entrance. “Captain Kuchiki.”

“Captain Unohana.” He stepped forward and regarded the pale figure lying on the bed. Despite Isane’s earlier reassurances, Abarai Renji looked as if he might still die at any moment: his skin was ash-gray, tattoos standing out stark and almost sickly, and bandages wrapped tightly around his abdomen and his head. His knuckles were bruised and decorated with fresh scabs, and one eye was swollen dark. 

Unohana must have misread the stiffening in Byakuya’s posture because she stepped forward. “We tried to avoid healing anything above the neck,” she said. “He sustained a serious head wound, blunt-force trauma from the looks of it. He’s fragile. It’s best to allow that to heal on its own.”

“Renji!” Rukia rushed past them and came up to the bed, eyes shining with fresh tears. “Oh, gods, what did they do to you…?” 

Byakuya turned away from her to address his fellow captain. “What are his other injuries?”

Unohana hummed, just a hint of darkness tinting her voice. “Whoever did this likely brought him down with a blow to the head from behind,” she said. “Then he was bound and, not to put too fine a point on it, gutted. There are burns on the side of his body as well, so he might have been tortured. They didn’t just want to him to die. They wanted him to suffer.”

Rukia sniffed from where she sat next to the bed, Renji’s limp hand grasped tightly between her own. “How…How did they disarm him?”

“He leaves Zabimaru in his quarters on occasion, especially when he has social outings planned,” Byakuya answered. “He…did the same, last night.”

“That is an odd bit of information to know,” Unohana remarked, regarding Byakuya as if for the first time. 

The captain of the Sixth merely looked away. “It is good practice for me to keep track of my subordinates’ habits and whereabouts in case of emergency.”

“His hands are all scratched up,” Rukia said, and Unohana nodded.

“Your lieutenant put up quite the fight,” she said. “I’m guessing whoever attacked him didn’t get out of it in one piece either.”

Byakuya made no response to this, but Rukia sighed and gently brushed a strand of red hair out of Renji’s face. “Stubborn as always, aren’t you.”

Unohana smiled. “Either way, I expect he’ll make a full recovery so long as he receives the proper amount of rest and care. I trust you’ll take care of all the necessary arrangements?” 

She was addressing Byakuya, but it was Rukia who responded. “Of course, ma’am,” she said, rising from the chair. “Ah, if you don’t mind, could we speak outside for a moment? Maybe there’s something you or Lieutenant Isane picked up during your healing, some clue as to who attacked him?”

Unohana frowned. “Given his assailants are still at large, he shouldn’t be left unsupervised—”

“I will stay with him,” Byakuya said.

Unohana sent him a long look. The captain of the Sixth didn’t respond, only continuing to watch some nameless thing outside the window. She couldn’t be sure, but it seemed his shoulders shook just slightly.

“Captain?” Rukia said, and Unohana turned to her with a nod. There were happenings in this world that were very clearly none of her business, she’d learned long ago, and there was no use prying deeper than the surface, sometimes.

“This way, Kuchiki-san,” she said, and preceded Rukia from the room.

The moment the door slid shut behind them, Byakuya’s gaze dropped from the window to his lieutenant. He let out a shaky breath, finally allowing the tremors to take hold as he lowered himself into the chair next to the bed, bending forward to brush his lips over Renji’s. Then, gently grasping one limp, unresponsive hand in his own, he lowered his head to Renji’s chest, mindful of the bandages, and let out a soft, trembling sigh at the determined  _ thump _ of his lieutenant’s heartbeat.

“Renji,” he whispered, as he closed his eyes and finally allowed his heart to break, scattering into a thousand shards of terror and despair as it had wanted to the instant he’d received the terrible news at the Sixth. “Who did this to you?”

EIGHT HOURS EARLIER

Byakuya came out of the light half-doze when his pillow moved. He lifted his head and blinked, watching as his lover scooted to the edge of the bed and bent to pick up his clothes. “Renji?”

“Hm?” Renji glanced at him over his bare shoulder. His tattoos shifted and slithered with every movement, mysterious and alluring in the half-light of the lieutenant’s quarters. “Oh. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Where are you going?” Byakuya was careful to make it clear he was curious, not accusing. It had been one of the most difficult parts of navigating the early phases of their relationship, learning to communicate. It had seemed almost as if he and Renji were speaking two different languages, between Byakuya’s reluctance to divulge emotion for fear of being vulnerable, and Renji’s protective need to know everything so he could waylay betrayal. Still, they’d eventually learned to fit and adapt to each other as they grew closer, Byakuya slowly thawing those parts of himself that had remained frozen for decades, while Renji learned that not everything his captain said was made to cut and bleed.

It was a sign of their progress that Renji’s eyes simply softened for a moment as he lifted his uniform. “It’s the last Wednesday of the month. The Seireitei Communication comes out tomorrow, remember?”

Oh, that’s right. Undoubtedly Hisagi and the other members of the Ninth were even now scrambling to finish proofs and printing in time for the morning distribution, everyone tearing their hair out as they mainlined coffee and snapped irritably at each other. For as long as Byakuya had known him, Renji had been helping his old friend once a month to meet his deadlines, often working through the night without hesitation or complaint. The magazine was not even remotely affiliated with the Sixth and Renji had absolutely no obligation to help, but Byakuya had learned long ago that his lieutenant’s entire being was built on a foundation of loyalty no earthquake could shake.

It took his breath away sometimes when he remembered he, too, had managed to earn this devotion.

He watched as Renji dressed, a tendril of heat curling low in his stomach at the shift and bunch of his lover’s muscles as he shrugged the uniform back on. He would never tire of this: going about their business at the Sixth, watching Renji spar with the other officers or trade jokes and banter with the recruits, knowing all the while the strength and power that lay beneath the folds of his uniform, how his eyes that brightened with mirth or narrowed in concentration throughout the day would inevitably turn dark and hungry the instant they retired to his quarters alone in the evenings. The feeling of Renji’s large hands bracketing his hips, how he would moan low and satisfied when Byakuya bit his neck, how sometimes in the warm afterglow Renji would turn to him with a smile on his face and a softness in his eyes that asked for  _ forever. _

How Byakuya himself would return the look, warmth and love swelling his heart to bursting, and think,  _ yes. _

They weren’t perfect, not by a long shot, and probably half of Seireitei would suffer strokes if they ever found out what happened behind closed doors in those spare few hours between Renji returning from the mess and Byakuya retiring to the Kuchiki estate for the night. The only people who knew about them were Rukia, who had always been able to read Renji like a book, and the most discreet and longstanding of the servants at the estate, who knew better than to whisper a word of anything to anyone regarding the clandestine visits their master’s lieutenant sometimes made in the middle of the night, when the moon was new and darkness blanketed the land.

What they had was beautiful and sacred, but they both knew the backlash Byakuya would catch from the rest of his family if word ever got out. In this, as in all things, Renji had been surprisingly and completely accepting. The first time his lover shrugged and said he was happy getting Byakuya however he could have him, Byakuya thought he might fly apart with the need to prove himself worthy of this man.

They’d settled into a routine now, more or less, and things were good—great, even. Even so, lately, Byakuya found himself considering more and more the true cost of revealing the truth, of allowing Renji to walk by his side where he always should have been, where he belonged. Would it really be so bad to have Renji accompany him to the outdoor spring festival next year, or sit to his right at the next clan meeting? It just seemed  _ right _ to have him there, Byakuya’s other—and better—half in all definitions of the term. 

Maybe he would bring it up the next time, Byakuya thought as he watched Renji give Zabimaru a sidelong glance, where his zanpakutou sat propped up against the wall in its usual place next to Senbonzakura. Maybe it was time to recognize that he was not ashamed of what they had—that he was proud, even, to have earned the love of a man so much stronger and more honorable than himself. 

After a moment, Renji seemed to make up his mind, shrugging and turning away from Zabimaru as he crossed the room to return to the bed. The kiss he pressed to Byakuya’s lips was sweet and gentle, fingers running briefly through long black hair. “Good night, Luna. Love you.”

Before Byakuya could swat him for the ridiculous nickname he was gone, leaving the afterimage of a bright grin and a whisper of reiatsu in his wake. Left alone in the silence of the lieutenant’s quarters— _ their _ quarters, Byakuya had begun to think, his definition of home now firmly ensconced in cheerful laughter and the low sling of an arm around his waist—Byakuya lay back on Renji’s slightly scratchy sheets and allowed himself a rare smile.

Tomorrow, he would ask. Tomorrow, they would discuss  _ forever _ .

#

The room seemed to have gotten colder. Byakuya curled as close to Renji as he dared, grasping for the thin remnants of his lover’s reiatsu, flayed and wounded as if by some terrible beast. Renji didn’t respond when Byakuya encircled his fragile reiatsu within his own in a protective net, trying his best to caress and heal. It was an unfamiliar task, alien and new. Renji would have to teach him how to do it right once he woke up.

When he did, Byakuya would be there to watch over and protect him, as he had failed to do the previous night. He would care for his lover, get him back on his feet, chase those kind eyes and that carefree smile once again.

And then, once he discovered who had hurt Renji so, Byakuya would hunt them down and make them wish they had never been born.

#

Most people who were not members of Soul Society’s ancient aristocracy assumed only Kuchiki Byakuya and his immediate family resided on the estate in Seireitei. The grounds were quite close to the Sixth Division headquarters, after all, allowing for a quick commute, and surely the rest of the Kuchiki, with their upturned noses and perfectly-manicured nails and impossibly-scented baths, would much prefer the lavish isolation of the Kuchiki manor located miles away from the outskirts of Soul Society and thus a far enough distance from the common rabble.

But those people would be wrong.

The truth of the matter was that the majority of the Kuchiki family lived wherever their Head did, so matters of the family’s conduct and holdings could be discussed and resolved without fuss or delay. Byakuya himself did not  _ mind _ having so many of his relatives so near, per se, although he’d be hard-pressed to say he  _ preferred _ it. It was more that he’d recognized it as a battle not worth fighting, and thus something he accepted as part of the burden of being clan Head: that, a day after Renji had been discovered in the alley and rushed to the Fourth, he was not watching over his comatose lover as he wanted desperately to be doing, but instead overseeing mid-morning tea with the four other people who together made up the Kuchiki family’s Elder Council.

Not many people in Soul Society knew that, following a particularly dark and awful incident three hundred years ago that had been wiped from the archives with a swiftness that could only spring from shame, an aspect of democracy had been introduced into the Kuchiki family to ensure no single person ever held the seat of all power within the clan. This was the Elder Council: a group of five overseen by the Head, who together discussed and ultimately decided all key aspects of family life. A majority vote of three was required for all decisions, and with the intricate accounting and vast sprawling properties the family owned, this often required at least twice-weekly meetings of the Council to sort everything out without grinding all operations to a stop. 

In the past, Byakuya had never minded it, just one extra duty in his service to his clan. Today, though, he could barely contain his impatience as his great-aunt, Kuchiki Itsuo, droned on and on about expanding the boundaries of the family’s massive sakura orchard, which would require they hire new staff, but of course they wouldn’t take anyone from higher than District 40 of the Rukongai, those dirty people would probably  _ steal _ the trees as soon as tend them…

“Dearest aunt,” mused a soft, gravelly voice, cutting Itsuo off mid-sentence with the grace of a stream gently bending a blade of grass, “You must pardon my simplicity in these matters, but I do believe sakura have absolutely no monetary value beyond aesthetic appeal. I doubt anyone in the Rukongai would bother to risk our wrath by walking off with one.”

Byakuya’s uncle, Kuchiki Hashida, paused to sip primly from his cup, smiling beneath thick silver eyebrows. “Besides, I myself rather like the thought of sakura decorating houses in the Rukongai. The residents there have so little to brighten their days, after all.”

Kuchiki Keishi, Itsuo’s husband and thus always liable to take her side, gave a snort that would likely have scored first prize in a derision competition. “If they live in slums and squalor it is only because they choose to,” he sniffed. “Soul Society offers so many free handouts it’s a miracle they have the funding for anything. The rats simply need to stop being so lazy.”

Byakuya’s fingers tightened around his teacup.  _ One of those ‘rats’ is currently fighting for his life at the Fourth, _ he thought.  _ And he is easily worth a hundred of you. _

“Maa,” said Hashida, placating, but his smile didn’t fade. To his right, the final member of the Council, Kuchiki Michio and another of Byakuya’s uncles, made no effort to contribute to the debate. In fact, he looked to be dozing, which was how he usually conducted himself during these meetings thanks to his particular weakness for fine sake.

Itsuo nodded and turned to Byakuya. “What are your thoughts, Byakuya-sama? Surely you’ve witnessed the duplicity of these people from the outer districts. You have several in your division, after all.”

She said ‘division’ the same way someone else might say ‘wastebasket’. Byakuya schooled his expression and sipped his tea. “I would not presume to know the personal preferences of those under my command,” he said. “So long as they violate no regulations and their performance remains exemplary, their habits are no concern of mine.”

“Except for that uppity lieutenant of yours,” Keishi said.

Of those present in the room, only Byakuya was a shinigami with any sort of sensitivity to reiatsu. The closest second was Hashida, who had made something of a hobby of learning and practicing healing  _ kidou _ over the years, but who had never felt the desire to formalize it with an official position in the Gotei 13. As such, only Byakuya’s silver-haired uncle blinked and tilted his head at the tiny flicker of reiatsu that leaked through the usual cold wall surrounding his nephew, just a half-second of weakness before abruptly vanishing once again.

“Please clarify your meaning,” Byakuya said.

Oblivious to the dangerous edge of his grand-nephew’s voice, Keishi hummed. “He was discovered all beat-up in the commercial district yesterday, wasn’t he? An odd place to be that early in the morning, surely. Perhaps, in this case, he is someone whose ‘habits’ you should follow more closely?”

“Ah, yes, I had heard he was quite severely injured,” Hashida said, all diplomacy. Byakuya had never been more grateful for his uncle’s soft voice and gentle diversionary tactics, and from the way Hashida smiled at him, his uncle knew exactly what he was doing. “He must be quite strong to have survived such a ghastly attack. If you’d like, Byakuya-sama, I could drop by the Fourth later this afternoon, perhaps help with his healing?”

“Thank you, Uncle. I assure you Abarai is in good hands.”

Hashida’s diversion had done the trick: the boiling rage that had erupted in Byakuya’s stomach at Keishi’s words died down to a simmer. He took a deep breath, careful not to make a sound as Itsuo and Keishi engaged Hashida in a conversation about his latest  _ kidou _ studies. The judgments of his family meant nothing, not from where they sat on their silk, rose-scented cushions, never having worked a day in their lives, never having suffered or starved or fought for survival. They didn’t know Renji, his strength and resilience that  _ came _ from his past. They didn’t know what it was like to be loved by such a man.

He managed to adjourn the meeting half an hour later, rousing Michio with a subtle flick of reiatsu and making his excuses as quickly as possible. A few minutes later he was back at the Fourth, but paused at the entrance to Renji’s room. “Hisagi.”

Renji’s old  _ senpai _ turned from where he’d been conversing with Rukia and quickly straightened to attention. “Captain.”

“Niisama.” Rukia smiled, and though it was still tinged with residual worry and exhaustion, it seemed a bit brighter than before. “How did the meeting go?”

“About as well as could be expected,” he said, before looking at Hisagi. “Thank you for coming, Lieutenant.”

“As if I’d stay away.” Hisagi peered down at Renji, open pain in his expression. “Who would do something like this? And to  _ Renji _ , of all people?”

“Perhaps you could provide us with some clues,” Byakuya said. “You were the one who saw him last, after all.”

He hadn’t the slightest suspicion of Hisagi himself; if anything could be said about Renji, it was that he chose his friends well, and he would trust his  _ senpai _ with his life. Hisagi, too, didn’t seem to take the question as accusation because he merely hummed, shoulders sagging. “I honestly have no idea,” he said. “We finally sent the proofs off to the printer around…two, I think? Renji was there the entire time, trying to cheer everybody up—I think he told one of Matsumoto’s really bad sex jokes at one point, just to make Nimika stop crying—and then after we finished he said something about having to go pick something up, and then he left.” He shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything else until they found him a few hours later.”

“Did he say what he had to pick up?” Rukia asked.

“No. Just that it was at some shop and he thought it was kind of a shitty hour to do it…um. Pardon the language, Captain.”

“It’s fine. So Renji was headed to this shop after he finished at your division? That would explain where he was ultimately found.”

Rukia nodded. “Maybe we should head back to the crime scene, see if any of the shopkeepers—”

But she didn’t get to finish because just then, a slight snap of familiar reiatsu flickered through the air. As one, they all turned to look at the bed. Renji hadn’t moved, but his reiatsu twisted once more, stronger this time.

Byakuya straightened. “Hisagi, Rukia. Clear the room.”

The lieutenant of the Ninth frowned. “With all due respect, sir—”

“ _ Now. _ ”

And either or something of what he was feeling showed on Byakuya’s face or Hisagi simply knew to follow orders because the lieutenant stiffened and nodded, quickly accompanying Rukia from the room. His sister paused for just a moment at the threshold, turning bright eyes on him. “Take care of him, Niisama.”

She didn’t seem to expect a reply, quickly stepping out and shutting the door behind her. Byakuya hardly took notice, too busy seating himself on the edge of Renji’s bed and slowly spreading a layer of his own reiatsu out along the room’s floor as if laying a fresh carpet of warm, vibrating energy. Simultaneously he forged the rest of his reiatsu into a net hovering in an arcing curve several feet over the bed, and then he took a deep breath in preparation.

He didn’t have to wait long.

When Renji woke, he  _ exploded. _

The force of his lover’s reiatsu—wild, unyoked, and rooted in nothing but terror and instinct—shot outward in all directions and would have brought the entire building down on them if Byakuya hadn’t  _ moved _ , his own reiatsu simultaneously snapping upward from the floor like a bear trap to catch and contain Renji’s burning energy while the net collapsed down to take care of any desperate tendrils that tried to escape. A half-second later his lieutenant shot up, limbs flailing as he fought invisible assailants but Byakuya was there as well, gently but firmly seizing Renji’s wrists to hold him back as his lover made pained, terrified noises, eyes wild as he dealt with the world the only way he knew how.

“Renji,” Byakuya said, as Renji shuddered and tried to shove him off, still making those horrible noises. “Renji, it’s me, it’s Luna.  _ Renji! _ ”

And his words seemed to activate something, a part of his lover wired to his voice and their bond because Renji abruptly stopped moving, chest heaving as brown eyes finally focused with some semblance of recognition. “Byakuya?”

His reiatsu gave one final, desperate shudder before slowly coming under control. Byakuya smiled through the dangerous prickle of tears, heart swelling with love and relief. “Yes,” he said, and kissed him.

Renji returned the kiss immediately, hauling Byakuya close with trembling hands as they relearned each other through taste and touch. It was not an expression of passion, not really, even as Byakuya allowed himself to be pulled almost into Renji’s lap, mindful of the bandages as he lost himself in his lover’s familiar taste. It was more an affirmation, a homecoming. This was what it meant to be whole again.

An eternity passed before they finally broke apart, but even then Byakuya couldn’t keep his hands off Renji, touching his face and shoulders and chest, afraid if he stopped then Renji would disappear for good. Renji, for his part, didn’t seem to mind from the way he leaned forward to rest his forehead on Byakuya’s shoulder, warm puffs of breath caressing his neck. “Gods,” he whispered, fingers curled in the front of Byakuya’s uniform. “You’re here.”

“As if I could be anywhere else,” Byakuya answered, swallowing against the sudden tightening in his throat at his lover’s familiar voice. Renji was here. He was alive.

They sat like that for a few more moments, curled into each other like children. Byakuya ran his fingers through Renji’s hair, noting a few spots where the strands were still stiff with dried blood. He shivered. “Renji. What happened?”

At that Renji shifted, sitting back and reaching up to touch the bandages on his head with a wince. “I…don’t really remember,” he said. “Everything’s fuzzy. A dark room? There was this guy wearing a mask…oh, chains. They had me all bound up in chains, and I could feel it sucking out all my reiryouku, and then…fire? I don’t…” He sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s all jumbled up.”

“Don’t strain yourself.” Byakuya took his hand and squeezed it. “Unohana said some memory loss was to be expected. Hisagi mentioned you were going to pick something up from a shop.”

“Did he?” Renji frowned. “That sounds familiar. Did I have anything on me?”

“No.” Except half the blood in his body and a couple coils of intestine, but Byakuya thought it best not to mention that.

“Huh.” Renji furrowed his brow in concentration. “It was something important, I know that much. And then after, I was trying to…” 

As he struggled to finish the thought, they were interrupted by what felt like a half-dozen spirit signatures showing up abruptly outside the closed door, all vibrating with anticipation and bravado mixed with worry. Byakuya raised an eyebrow. “Your fan club is here.”

“They ain’t my fan club,” Renji grumbled, the same time as Rukia’s voice leaked through the door. 

“Niisama? Renji?”

“Open the fuckin’ door, we ain’t waitin’ out here forever!” yelled Madarame Ikkaku. Byakuya sighed, but couldn’t help smiling as he darted in for another quick kiss.

“Fan club.”

“Shut up.” Renji reached out to tug at Byakuya’s uniform, straightening the collar. “Will you stay?” 

If he hadn’t come to know all his lover’s small expressions like a second language, Byakuya might have missed the tinge of vulnerability in Renji’s voice. As it was, he nodded, stepped back, and mouthed,  _ Always _ .

Renji grinned, the easy familiarity of it making Byakuya’s heart do funny things in his chest. Gods, he almost lost this. After today, he would never let his lover go again.

Then Renji turned to the door, took a deep breath, and barked, “Get in here, you fuckin’ dicks, I ain’t dead yet!” 

As his friends tumbled into the room, a cacophony of questions and curses and easy banter, Byakuya allowed himself to retreat into the corner, watching as the other shinigami rudely—but carefully—prodded and poked at Renji, making jokes and threats all the while. Rukia was the only one to acknowledge him, coming to stand next to him after a moment, and they watched as Ikkaku grabbed Renji in a (surprisingly gentle) headlock as Matsumoto waved a bottle of sake she’d somehow conjured from thin air and Hisagi looked vaguely horrified.

“He’ll be okay?” Rukia asked, although to his ear it sounded more like a statement than a question.

Even so, he nodded. “Yes.”

“And you?”

He blinked and turned, but Rukia only smiled, soft and knowing. It took a surprising amount of effort not to smile back; it seemed Renji wasn’t the only one influencing him for the better.

In the end, he didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he said, and looking at Renji, the easy way he laughed and joked with his friends while simultaneously curling a tendril of his reiatsu around a wisp of Byakuya’s own, he knew it was the truth.

#

Renji was discharged that evening. Byakuya thought Unohana might have given him a knowing look when she told him to keep a close eye on his lieutenant, but he couldn’t be sure.

Regardless, who was he to disregard medical advice? Renji followed him down the halls of the Sixth Division a couple steps behind as always, yet any shinigami in the vicinity would likely have noticed their captain occasionally assessing their lieutenant’s reiatsu with his own, perhaps a little more than strictly necessary. Renji didn’t seem to mind, if the warm pulse he sent back in response was any indication.

They came across one of the recruits, Jun, sweeping the hall outside the officers’ quarters. She immediately dropped her broom and saluted. “Captain! Lieutenant! I, ah…” Her gaze shifted to Renji, at the bandages still visible around his head, and her lower lip quivered. “I’m so glad you’re okay! When they told us what happened…”

Her voice cracked. Renji moved but Byakuya beat him to it, stepping smoothly up to the young shinigami. “Thank you. Please tell the Fifth Seat that we will be increasing patrols in this area, as Lieutenant Abarai’s attackers are still at large. He is on recovery leave for the next few days and thus will not be on duty. However, others in the division are welcome to visit during off hours so long as formal notice is given.”

Jun straightened and managed after a few tries to get her hitching breaths under control. “Yes, sir!”

“Formal notice?” Renji asked, once she’d disappeared with her broom down the hall. “Getting a little protective, are we, Captain?”

“Can you blame me?” Byakuya asked, and Renji just smiled and shook his head.

“No, guess not.”

They entered the lieutenant’s quarters together. This late in the day, fading sunlight slanted in through the back window, painting everything a soft, pale cream. Zabimaru lay propped up against the wall and seemed rather put-out by the whole business, if the slight twitch of Renji’s reiatsu and his subsequent growl of “Yeah, yeah, shut up” was anything to go by.

As Byakuya slid the door shut, Renji began shedding his uniform, groaning as sore muscles and freshly-healed injuries protested the movement. “Man, not that I’m complaining about being alive and all, but you’d think the Fourth could do something about their mattresses—uh.”

He might have blinked; Byakuya couldn’t tell from where he stood with his arms wrapped tightly around his lover, turning to bury his nose in Renji’s neck and inhaling the familiar musk-sweat-sunshine of his scent. After a moment, strong hands came up to encircle his shoulders. “Luna?”

It was such a stupid nickname and Byakuya hated how just hearing it made tears spring to his eyes. “Just…give me this,” he whispered, and felt more than heard Renji sigh. The hands around him tightened protectively.

“Yeah. Anything.”

They stood there for a long time. Byakuya tried just to breathe, leaning almost his full weight into Renji, knowing his lieutenant would support him. Had it only been yesterday that they’d last been here, laughing between kisses as they fell together into bed? It seemed so long ago, now.

At long last Renji shifted, speaking his next words into Byakuya’s hair. “When do you go back to the estate?”

Byakuya tightened his grip. “I’ve informed my family that I will be staying here tonight. Something about my lieutenant being quite inconveniently incapacitated and thus saddling me with twice the paperwork to complete.”

“Wow, he sounds like such a jerk.”

Byakuya buried his smile in his lover’s neck. “He is lucky he’s so attractive.”

That startled a real laugh out of Renji, who shook his head and pressed a kiss to Byakuya’s forehead. “Better believe it. Do you actually need to get started on the paperwork or...?”

“Only a few tasks are urgent,” Byakuya said, stepping back and tugging gently at Renji’s uniform. “Prepare yourself a bath; I will stop by the office in the meantime to sign some forms. Afterward, I’ll wash your hair...Renji?”

But his lieutenant only blinked, a small frown marring his features. Byakuya stepped forward, alarmed. “Renji, what is it?”

“I just remembered something.” Renji snapped his fingers. “Signing forms. Brushes! That’s what I was supposed to pick up.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Yeah, so.” Renji rubbed the back of his neck, a splash of pink decorating his nose. “You know how you were complaining last month about how your set was wearing out? And then you started gushing about Kimitake-sensei and how his handmade brushes were like the equivalent of gold or some shit, and I did some research and it turns out he released a special-edition set just recently so I might’ve splurged a bit and placed an order.”

Byakuya stared. He remembered that conversation, of course, and while he certainly would not have described his behavior as either complaining or gushing, it was true he’d noted that he would need to replace his brush set within the next few months. And he had mentioned Kimitake’s handiwork, but only as idle conversation as he and Renji finished their work for the day.

Renji had not only taken note, but had gone out of his way to order a set for Byakuya. And yes, to Byakuya himself, such a purchase was nothing; the Kuchiki coffers were nigh bottomless. But for Renji, it likely would have cost about a third of his monthly pay.

And now, to think that Renji had ordered the brushes for Byakuya, had left the Ninth and gone to the commercial district that night because someone had told him his order was ready, someone who had manipulated his love for Byakuya, who had been waiting to ambush him, thirsty for blood and violence...

“Hey. Luna.” Warm hands encircled his own as Renji stepped back into his space. “Better get that killing intent under control or you’re gonna make half the division sick.”

Byakuya took a deep breath and obeyed, forcing his reiatsu back into its normal cold gray. There was nothing to be done about it now, he reminded himself. Right now Renji was safe, and  _ here _ , and if anything could be said of the last twenty-four hours, it was that Byakuya had learned just how precious their time together was.

He sighed and tipped forward, allowing Renji’s arms to envelop him once again. “I’ve changed my mind. I will join you in the bath.”

“Read my mind,” Renji answered with a grin.

#

Byakuya came awake to creeping half-darkness, the sky outside the window still faded gray as it awaited the dawn. The lieutenant’s quarters were utterly silent, the only noise the whisper of footsteps elsewhere in the division from the night patrol, and Renji lay curled up next to him in the bed, half-tangled in the covers. What had woken him?

Then he noticed it: the slight twitch of Renji’s fingers as he grasped the sheets. The tension all along his spine. The smallest tremble in his breath.

He was dreaming, and from the looks of it, it wasn’t good.

It took no effort at all: Byakuya only had to sit up and lay a hand on Renji’s shoulder and his lover sprang awake with a cry, eyes wide and wild for half a second before he remembered himself. “What—” And then Renji groaned, hand flying to his temple. “ _ Shit. _ ”

He was out of bed in a flash, staggering for the bathroom. Byakuya followed him and knelt as he crouched over the toilet, gently holding his hair back as Renji retched. “Easy,” he said, even though the panic in his heart insisted this was anything but. “You’re all right.”

It took a few more moments before Renji finally stopped heaving. Byakuya cleaned him up and helped him back to bed, pulling him close and stroking fingers through his hair as he breathed. After a while, Renji finally relaxed against him. “Damn, that sucked. Thanks.”

Byakuya only hummed. “What were you dreaming about?”

“Dunno. The guy was there, the one in the mask. Said something like...” Renji huffed. “ _ You’ll be the ruin of us all, _ or some shit like that.”

Byakuya blinked. The ruin of us all? That could mean one of a hundred things when it came to Renji: his Inuzuri background, his tattoos, his foul-mouthed demeanor—unfortunately there were plenty of people in Soul Society liable to take his lieutenant’s very existence as a personal offence.

Renji broke the train of thought by groaning once more and doing his level best to burrow into Byakuya’s chest. “M’head feels like it’s gonna explode.”

“Convenient, as that would resolve your numerous personality flaws,” Byakuya answered, but the fingers in Renji’s hair remained gentle.

They were truly fortunate, he knew, that the pain was the only lingering remnant of Renji’s assault. He glanced down at his lover’s bare torso, at the jagged, seven-inch scar that curved along his abdomen like a grim pink smile. All odds said Renji should not have survived such a grievous wound. Byakuya tightened his hold, desperately grateful for his lover’s stubbornness.

The rest of the morning unfolded without further mishap. Once dawn fully made itself known in rosy yellow light they got up, dressed, and Byakuya headed to the office to catch up on paperwork while Renji went to get breakfast in the mess and reassure the rest of the division with his presence. He took Zabimaru with him, which brought Byakuya considerable comfort.

A couple hours later found Byakuya making his way back to the officers’ quarters where he and Renji had agreed earlier to meet. A short figure just outside the door startled and saluted upon his approach. “Captain Kuchiki!”

“Yamada Hanatarou.” Byakuya nodded at the young healer. “I assume you are here for my lieutenant.”

“Yes, I—yes.” Hanatarou cut his eyes away, hands bunching in the folds of his uniform. “I was sent from the Fourth to…to follow up with Lieutenant Abarai, yes.”

He looked about half a second from bolting. Byakuya blinked; had he said or done something recently to scare the young shinigami?

Before he could ask, Renji’s voice rang out, cheerful and bright. “Hanatarou! Good morning.”

“Ah, Renji-san—I mean, Lieutenant.” Hanatarou bowed, jerky and nervous. “Captain Unohana, uh, sent me to check up on your injuries first thing…”

“Well, sure,” Renji said, clapping him companionably on the shoulder. “The captain and I had planned to head out to the commercial district to do a little poking around, but since you’re here we can always—”

“Oh no, don’t!” Hanatarou said, then blushed furiously at the interruption. “I mean, no, Lieutenant, there is no need to change your plans on my account. I’ll come back later.”

“It’s really no big deal,” Renji said, but Hanatarou was already backing away, bowing all the while.

“No, it’s no problem at all, it’s better this way, please forgive me, good day!” And then he was gone, rushing down the hall as if the entirety of the Eleventh were on his heels.

In the sudden quiet, Renji blinked. “He does realize neither one of us actually dismissed him, right?”

Byakuya nodded. “He seems uncharacteristically nervous.”

“Well, he’s always kinda been that way, but you’re right, this is a little over the top. It’s probably you.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

They headed out a few minutes later. Seireitei’s primary shopping district was much the same as Byakuya remembered it on the rare occasion he deigned to come here: shop after neat shop, interspersed with tea houses, ramen stands, and restaurants offering all sorts of exotic foods. The weather was nice and children laughed as they ran between browsing adults, kites dipping and swaying in the air, and the whole place, as usual, had an air of festivity to it, an endless optimism that gave no hint of how it had been almost completely destroyed just a few months ago in the wake of Aizen’s war.

The only real difference Byakuya noticed was the unmistakable presence of a couple dozen shinigami signatures scattered throughout the district, tinged with that distinct icy flavor of the Tenth. He wasn’t surprised the Gotei 13 had increased patrols in the area. One of their officers had just been brutally attacked here, after all.

Renji, for his part, didn’t seem particularly bothered by the place, even when they made their way back to the alley where he’d initially been found, a dark, rust-colored stain still visible in the dirt. He merely wrinkled his nose and said, “They should get that cleaned up or it’ll grow ants.”

Byakuya frowned. “Does it trigger any memories for you?”

“A little.” Renji rapped a knuckle against the brick wall bracketing the alley. “Tripped over that in the middle of  _ shunpo _ , last thing I remember is the ground coming up at me. I took…two jumps, maybe? Three? Then I couldn’t do it anymore.”

He said it matter-of-factly, as if he were giving a mission report. Even so, Byakuya couldn’t help the small shiver that worked its way down his spine. “That gives us a decent area to search, at least.”

“Yeah.” Renji smiled at him. “You take east, I’ll take west?”

In the end, it took Byakuya less than five minutes to locate the disastrous scene. He immediately sent a flare of reiatsu up into the air, and a few seconds later Renji alighted next to him with a grunt. “Oh. Damn.” 

The building they faced might have been a shop at one point, if someone had taken Ryujin Jakka at its fiery worst to the entire place. While the foundations still stood, they were nothing more than blackened stumps of wood, while ash, soot, and bits of broken glass were scattered throughout the area.

Byakuya watched Renji step slowly up to the wreckage, a look of concentration on his face.  _ Fire, _ he’d said, back when he’d first awoken at the Fourth. This had to be what he’d meant.

But it only made things more confusing. Yes, Renji had been found with burns on his body—had his attackers tried to burn him? If so, why cut into him as well? Perhaps they were trying to cover up the evidence by setting fire to the place afterward?

“Oh, are you friends of Murata-san?”

He blinked and turned to see a middle-aged, plump woman watching him. The slightly greasy apron tied around her waist shared a logo with a bakery two doors down. She smiled, easy and kind. “I hadn’t thought he knew any shinigami, much less a captain.”

“Who is Murata?”

“Ah, pardon me.” The baker nodded and clapped flour dust from her hands. “Murata-san is a cobbler. He’s had his shop here for many years, but a few weeks ago he suddenly packed everything up and closed down. We haven’t heard from him since.” She frowned. “Then the place mysteriously burned down in the middle of the night a couple days ago. We reported it to the local division immediately, of course, but they seemed distracted. Something about one of their own being attacked nearby, or something.”

“I see.” Byakuya turned back to the building. Renji still hovered just at the entrance, head tilted as if considering something serious. “And you have no idea why the cobbler left? His business was profitable?”

“Oh, very. We all miss him terribly. He made the most fantastic leek dumplings! And now with the shop destroyed, we were thinking of trying to rebuild it in case he comes back, but we can’t do it without the division’s help…Shinigami-san, do you think…?”

Byakuya nodded. “I will look into it.”

She smiled brightly, thanked him, and hurried back to her bakery.

Renji was still standing in front of the building, one palm pressed to the charred remains of a wooden support beam. Byakuya said nothing, and he didn’t have to wait long before his lieutenant let out a shaky breath. “I think…I did this,” he said.

And Byakuya, knowing exactly what his lieutenant was and wasn’t capable of, knew immediately. “ _ Kidou. _ ”

“Yeah.” Renji lowered his hand and turned back to him with a pained expression. “They had me tied down in chains. I didn’t have Zabimaru. I was already bleeding out, and the guy…he was gonna go for my throat next. So I…got desperate.”

Byakuya nodded and didn’t move, even though the only thing he wanted to do right now was put his fist through the nearest wall. “You took the fire as an opportunity to escape.” Gods, he had never been more grateful for Renji’s terrible grasp of  _ hado. _ The explosion had saved his life.

“There’s something else.” Renji frowned and stepped back from the building, wiping his hands on his uniform as if just feeling the ash from the fire bothered him. “It’s pretty clear this place didn’t have anything to do with calligraphy brushes, but I remember getting the notification a few days ago to come here to pick up the order. Nothing weird on that end—they sent a hell butterfly—but I think something might’ve gone wrong when I put in the order in the first place.”

“What do you mean?” Byakuya asked, and Renji sighed, shoulders slumping.

“You ain’t gonna like this.”

#

The members of the Sixth Division were in the middle of morning drills when a thunderous wave of reiatsu flattened everyone in the vicinity.

It wasn’t an attack, not really, but it sent most everyone to their knees, and not a few of the newest recruits collapsed flat-out to the ground beneath the ponderous, furious weight. Those who weren’t knocked completely unconscious by the sheer power groaned and struggled to move, and it wasn’t until a sharp rejoinder from a different spirit signature provided some relief that most were able to even breathe again. 

The second wave of reiatsu was not nearly as strong or vast as the first, but, well,  _ stubborn _ was probably the best way to describe it, neatly smacking its elder aside with a sharp, almost scolding impact the same way a particularly feisty dog might send a bear running with an especially well-aimed nip. Half a second later, both waves vanished as their owners took back control, and the captain and lieutenant of the Sixth materialized in the middle of the courtyard in a swirl of dust.

If Renji was annoyed by the recent exchange with his captain, he didn’t mention it, instead turning to the rest of the division as they picked themselves gingerly up from the ground. “All of you back to the barracks, except for—”

“Namada Jun,” Byakuya said, in a voice that would freeze a volcano.

As one, everyone present turned to look at the recruit in question, who had gone still and ashen. Her entire body shook, eyes wide and terrified.

“Now,” Renji barked, and the area cleared faster than a warren of rabbits spotting a fox.

Jun remained where she was, frozen in terror in the middle of the courtyard as she stared at her two commanding officers. Peering out from where they’d retreated to their barracks rooms, the rest of the Sixth observed two things: one, their lieutenant kept a portion of his reiatsu wrapped firmly around the grip not of Zabimaru but of Senbonzakura, almost as if staying his captain’s hand. And two, Jun didn’t ask what she’d done.

“My office,” Byakuya snapped, and turned and began walking. Renji politely motioned for Jun to precede him, but he didn’t smile.

The instant the office doors closed behind them, the young recruit fell to her knees. “I’m sorry!” she cried, through hitching sobs. “I didn’t mean for—he offered so much money and I didn’t expect—I’m so sorry, please kill me, I don’t deserve—”

“Whoa, okay, enough of that.” A firm hand gripped her shoulder and drew her up to sitting. Renji shook his head. “You really think we need more blood spilled in the Sixth at this point? Get your head on straight, Namada.”

Byakuya, in the meantime, stood next to his desk and regarded them both with an expression cold enough to have made Hitsugaya shiver. “Explain.”

Renji had told him as much as he could remember back at the shop: he’d found Kimitake’s catalog, filled out the order form, and prepared to drop it off with the evening mail at the Seventh when Jun intercepted him, helpful as always.  _ Oh, don’t worry, Lieutenant, _ she’d said, all bubbly and cheerful to the point where he thought she might have been a little desperate.  _ I’ll take care of that for you, I’m on my way there anyway. _

The next time Renji heard about his order, a hell butterfly told him to pick it up at the shop.

Still kneeling on the floor, Jun wiped at her tears and refused to meet their eyes. “It—It was a man, someone older I’d never met before. He wore a mask, and he gave me a ton of money and said all I had to do was track Lieutenant Abarai’s movements and habits for a f-few weeks and report back to him. He…He said Lieutenant Abarai was under investigation and I was only helping them out, and it was so much money, and then he asked me to bring him anything you filed that wasn’t associated with the division and I thought it was  _ harmless _ , it was just a little thing and I’m so sorry!”

She started to cry again. Renji sighed and turned to Byakuya, and he recognized that look:  _ She’s telling the truth. Be gentle. _

But Byakuya did not want to be gentle.

She was the reason Renji’s attackers had known he would be unarmed that night. She was the reason he’d gone to the shop in the first place, expecting only to pick up a gift for Byakuya at an inconvenient hour. She was the reason Byakuya had almost lost everything.

He didn’t allow his reiatsu to flare again like it had in the courtyard earlier, but it was a close thing as he took a step forward and looked down at the young woman sobbing on the floor. “Namada Jun,” he said, “effective immediately, you are dishonorably discharged from the Gotei 13 for—”

“Beg your pardon, sir,” Renji said, “but no.”

It was probably lucky Jun was still staring at the floor, her vision blurred with tears. Seireitei generally had an impression of Kuchiki Byakuya as possessing a total of two facial expressions: blank and nothing. Therefore, she would’ve been suitably surprised to see the way his face pinched at his subordinate’s words, a strange mix of worry and frustration. “Lieutenant—”

“With respect, the punishment is inappropriate.” Renji turned back to the recruit, voice soft. “Namada. You’re from District 68, right?” She sniffed and nodded. “Family?”

“D-Dead.”

“Thought so.” Renji straightened, and the look he sent Byakuya was reminiscent of the arguments from the beginning of their relationship, when Byakuya would say something like  _ Why are you penny-pinching, I can just buy that for you, _ and Renji would respond by throwing his hands up and snarling,  _ You don’t fuckin’ understand. _

“Where we come from,” Renji said, “you learn real quick how important money is. It’s the difference between having a roof over your head or freezing to death, or a hot meal and having to drink old dishwater to keep yourself full. You learn to take whatever you can get because you could have nothing tomorrow, and that anything short of all-out murder is worth the coin, and even then there’re exceptions if your kids are about to starve.

“He offered her money for something she thought was harmless and she would’ve been crazy not to take it. Sending her back to the Rukongai won’t change her mind, Captain. It’ll just kill her.”

Silence for a moment. Byakuya watched Renji, the determined look on his lover’s face, and then he looked at Jun, bowed so low to the ground her nose almost touched the floorboards. He had a choice here, didn’t he? Between who he had been and who he was striving to be.

He knew which one made Renji look at him sometimes with so much devotion it made his heart ache.

“Eight weeks of extra duties and half pay,” he said, as Jun’s head shot up, eyes wide. “And you are to report directly to the Third Seat every morning and whenever you leave headquarters so we know your location at all times.”

Her eyes grew watery again. “Yes, sir!” she cried, kowtowing low. “Thank you, sir! You don’t know how much—”

“Yes, fine, you’d better scram before he changes his mind,” Renji interrupted, but his voice was warm and the smile he snuck Byakuya over her shoulder as he helped her up was warmer still.

Jun knew better than to dawdle, immediately heading for the door, but she paused at the threshold, spinning around so fast it was a miracle she didn’t trip. “Ah, wait!”

They both blinked and she blushed, looking back down at the floor. “That is, I…there’s something that might…help.”

“Clarify,” Byakuya said, and though Jun flinched at the sharpness of his voice, her shoulders remained firm.

“I only met the man twice, and he wore a mask each time so I don’t know what he looks like,” she said, “but I can tell you for sure he’s nobility.”

A pit of cold opened up in Byakuya’s stomach. He really, really didn’t like the sound of that.

“How do you know?” Renji asked, and Jun turned to him.

“The way he spoke to me,” she said, and something seemed to pass between them: an understanding.

“Thanks, Namada,” Renji said, and ushered her out. As soon as the door closed, he turned to his captain. “Well. Shit.”

And though Byakuya himself never took much to cursing, in that moment, he heartily agreed.

#

A couple days later, Kuchiki Itsuo set her teacup down with a decisive  _ clink _ and said, “With all due respect, Byakuya-sama, I must object.”

“Noted.”

Unheeding, his great-aunt barreled on. “I can understand your lieutenant’s need for a...period of rest after what happened to him. But he should be fully healed by now, surely. There’s no need for him to continue taking vacation and piling all the work onto you.”

“It is recovery leave,” Byakuya answered, “and this is on the recommendation of the Fourth Division.”

“That’s no excuse to force you to neglect your clan duties,” Keishi huffed. “You’ve had to remain overnight at the division headquarters for the past three days, doing his work. How can you be certain he isn’t just exaggerating his injuries to get out of his duties? People like him are known for that, after all.”

Before Byakuya could make a comment in poor taste about  _ exactly _ what people like Renji were known for, Hashida’s soft voice rolled across the room. “Maa,” said his uncle, “Byakuya-sama’s lieutenant has a history of being a hard worker, as far as I’m aware. What does he have to gain from faking his wounds? Much of the work will still be waiting for him afterwards.”

“That is not the point,” Itsuo grumbled, but couldn’t seem to follow it up with exactly what the point was.

Hashida sipped his tea, demure. “Perhaps what should be alarming us more,” he said, “is not so much that Byakuya-sama is choosing to spend time taking care of his shinigami duties—duties which are required of our clan Head—but the fact that we seem liable to fall right apart if he isn’t here to supervise us.”

The teasing lilt to his voice produced a fresh round of grumbles from Itsuo and Keishi, but they said nothing more. Next to Hashida, Michio languished in his usual doze.

Byakuya straightened his shoulders. “I understand your concerns, Great-Aunt,” he said. “As always, you place the good of the clan above all else, and this is appreciated. I assure you, my recent behavior notwithstanding, I do very much desire to be involved in clan duties over those of the Sixth.”

This seemed to placate the elderly couple, although Byakuya doubted they would have been as satisfied if they knew the real reason for his presence here. The truth was he would give almost anything to be back at the Sixth right now, watching Renji train the new recruits (the official leave orders from the Fourth had expired yesterday, but Byakuya felt it convenient to omit that). However, after Jun’s revelation about the mastermind behind Renji’s attack—and he  _ was _ a mastermind, the web around his lieutenant thickening and growing more intricate with each new discovery they made—he knew he needed to be here.

Because the person who had almost killed his lover resided somewhere in this house.

The thing was, most people looked at Abarai Renji and made a series of assumptions: that he was crass and loud and rough and prone to violence. And he was definitely all of these things, but what no one but Renji’s closest circle knew was that he also possessed the ability to turn it off when it counted. Perhaps he’d learned this growing up in Inuzuri, having to adapt and transform and take on new faces in order to survive. Or maybe he’d picked it up after he arrived in Seireitei and quickly learned there were people here who would just as soon grind him to nothing beneath their heels as look at him.

Either way, when it mattered, Renji was perfectly capable of being formal and polite; it was just that he rarely  _ chose _ it. One thing he was consistent with, though, was that he always treated those above him in station—whether within the Gotei or in greater society—with the appropriate amount of deference, either out of true respect or simply because it would be more bothersome not to. He was the same way with all members of Soul Society’s aristocracy, on the rare occasion he encountered them: he would bow, address them however they preferred, and then get the hell out as soon as possible.

Which meant, given both the rarity with which Renji and Soul Society’s nobility actually crossed paths, and the fact he knew exactly how to conduct himself to get out of those situations as smoothly as possible, that Byakuya could not recall any way his lieutenant might somehow have offended a member of nobility in recent memory, especially not to the point of them wanting actively to kill him. In fact, Renji’s only current tie to any noble family was through Byakuya himself. Which meant whoever had tried to murder him four days ago had Kuchiki blood.

It made something uncomfortable and dangerous twist through his gut with a mixture of fury and shame. Someone who shared his name had tried to kill his lover, and Byakuya had done nothing to protect him.

At least he was doing his level best to make up for it now. Renji had acquiesced with only a little grumbling to staying at the Sixth over the last few days, where the division’s loyalty and respect for him would keep him safe. They had returned to the burnt cobbler shop once more a couple days ago, but Renji hadn’t unearthed any more memories and further digging only came up with a charred half-coil of thick chain that shuddered with an odd magic when Byakuya touched it. Upon bringing it to the Twelfth, Kurotsuchi had irritably informed them that yes, this sort of thing could be got on the black market if one had the contacts, yes, it likely cost a truly exorbitant amount of money that only a noble could afford to drop, and no, he wasn’t going to analyze it any further than that, didn’t they know he had infinitely more important things to do?

At least the rest of the Gotei were more cooperative. Rukia and the rest of Renji’s friends found every excuse to drop by the Sixth for some bickering and banter, but there was no denying the telltale undercurrent of protectiveness beneath their crass conversations. Hanatarou made a couple more visits, but each time quickly stumbled over his need to respect Renji’s time and privacy, retreating with his mumbled excuses as soon as Renji mentioned being busy with something else. Jun, also, seemed to have taken Byakuya’s sentence as the new lease on life that it was, volunteering for every extra duty they could assign her and throwing herself into her  _ shikai  _ training with renewed vigor.

Renji himself was doing much better, especially now that he’d been allowed back on duty. The headaches were mostly gone, and though he still had the occasional nightmare and bouts of phantom pain, he mostly treated them the same as interdivision meetings: annoying but necessary. It was one of the things Byakuya respected the most about his lieutenant: this near-infinite well of resilience Renji possessed that allowed the world to knock him down and spit on him over and over, only for him to get up, brush himself off, shrug, and head right back into it.

It was a trait Byakuya knew he himself would never possess. It was like Renji’s near-murder had shaken loose something deep inside him, the flashpoint, fiery emotions exploding all over the place in a way they hadn’t since his youth. Now, though, Byakuya found he didn’t want to rein them in. They granted him permission, after all, to follow Renji into the lieutenant’s quarters at the end of the night—his reiatsu tightly bound to avoid suspicion—and wrap himself around his lover without thought or hesitation. They allowed him to enjoy this extra time with Renji, no longer having to sleep each night alone in the cold silence of the estate. And they led him to be here, drinking chrysanthemum-scented tea as he peered over his cup at his relatives and imagined disemboweling the one responsible with Senbonzakura’s blades.

It was true Renji’s attacker could easily be a Kuchiki who didn’t reside in Seireitei, but he had a distinct feeling it was someone in this room. Byakuya didn’t know who it was yet, but once he found out, the judgment would be worthy of the archives.

Oblivious to the violence of his nephew’s thoughts, Hashida folded his hands primly. “I do have some concern about the fact that the perpetrators of Abarai’s attack have not yet been caught,” he said. “They may be roaming the Seireitei even now. I’m not sure I feel entirely comfortable with that idea.”

“The estate’s guards have been placed on high alert,” Byakuya assured him. “I trust them to continue doing fine work.”

“Yes, but this place certainly has felt less safe since all that business happened,” Itsuo said, “especially now that you are spending so much time away from the house. Our guards do not hold a candle to your own fighting abilities, Byakuya-sama.”

Hashida sighed unhappily. “Perhaps it would be in our best interest to move everyone to the family grounds up north,” he said. “Temporarily, of course, but for everyone’s safety.”

“My division duties would not allow such a thing,” Byakuya said, and Keishi snorted.

“You have recently spent so much time lauding your lieutenant’s positive qualities,” his great-uncle said. “I’m sure even someone like him can manage not to burn the Sixth to the ground in your absence.”

“Perhaps it is presumptuous,” Byakuya said, speaking slowly, “to assume Abarai’s assailants would even target you, Great-Uncle. He is a powerful shinigami and an excellent soldier. To go after you, I imagine, would be a distinct step down.”

Silence. Keishi’s face slowly turned a deep shade of red, while Itsuo stared at Byakuya with a constipated mixture of rage and respect. Hashida merely hid his smile behind his teacup. Michio gave a grunt that might have been a snore.

“Well,” Hashida said, after another long, awkward moment, “it seems, in the end, that we may not be in as much danger as I had feared. I respectfully withdraw my proposal.”

“Noted,” Byakuya said, and adjourned the meeting soon after.

He found Renji in his office at the Sixth, finishing up some reports before lunch. His lieutenant raised an eyebrow as soon as he entered. “What did you do?”

“Nothing of note,” Byakuya tried, and Renji snorted.

“Yeah, because your reiatsu feels smug for no reason at all.”

Byakuya sighed, closed the door, and crossed the room for a quick kiss. He spoke his next words against Renji’s lips. “I may have lost my temper with my great-uncle because he insulted you.”

Renji huffed and pulled back, but he was smiling. “If you went after everyone who talks shit about me you’d have to deal with half of Soul Society,” he said.

Byakuya hummed. “Which half?”

“Depends. Is it Tuesday?”

He laughed then, unable to help it. Renji’s smile went soft. “Man, I’ve missed that.”

“Missed what?”

A rough thumb traced the curve of his bottom lip. “That,” Renji said. “You’ve been basically a giant bundle of stress and rage for the past week. I missed your smile. I missed you.”

Byakuya had no choice but to kiss him again after that.

Before things could get  _ really _ interesting, they were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. “Ah, Renji-san?”

“Hanatarou.” Renji sighed and rose, straightening his uniform. “Gotta admire the kid’s dedication, at least.”

Despite the poor timing, Byakuya had to agree. Though Renji was quite obviously mostly healed, the young shinigami from the Fourth Division continued showing up every day like clockwork to check up on his lieutenant. He had yet to actually  _ do _ anything, of course, always retreating and practically running away the instant Byakuya appeared or Renji mentioned having something to do, but it was the thought that counted.

He straightened and schooled his expression as Renji crossed the room to open the door. Hanatarou’s eyes widened the instant he spotted Byakuya. “Oh, Captain! I didn’t know you were here…I’ll just…”

He was already taking a step back, but Renji seized him by the arm. “Oh no, you don’t, not this time,” he said. “I’ve just about had it with you treating us like we got the clap or something. Either do what you came here to do or clear outta my division for good, and have fun explaining that to your bosses.”

Hanatarou went pale. Byakuya frowned. Surely he knew Renji was just joking? He’d always known the young healer was the skittish type, but this seemed a little extreme.

“I…” Hanatarou’s wide eyes darted back and forth between the two officers. “I just…I don’t want to…”

He didn’t seem able to finish. Byakuya sighed. “It is obvious the Fourth will not be satisfied until you have done your due diligence,” he said, stepping past them out into the hallway. “Take all the time you require to finish your task. I will return shortly.”

The last thing he saw before  _ shunpo _ -ing away was Renji, giving Hanatarou an irritated—but gentle—shove down the hall toward his quarters.

The Thirteenth was in the middle of their annual spring cleaning when he arrived a few minutes later. It was a tradition famous throughout the Seireitei not for the amount of tasks that got done in such a short amount of time—although that was impressive in its own right—but for the way the shinigami conducted themselves during it: whereas other divisions went about cleaning out their headquarters with either grumbling and violence (the Eleventh) or near-manic anxiety (the Ninth), members of the Thirteenth carried their buckets and moved their mops and wiped down their windows with such quiet composure and gentle grace as to be something of a spectacle. It seemed in this, as in all things, they channeled their captain.

He found Rukia in the middle of taking tea with Ukitake. Unohana sat between them and smiled at Byakuya over her cup. “Good morning, Captain Kuchiki.”

“Niisama.” Rukia smiled and stood up. “Welcome. Please join us.”

Byakuya duly seated himself at the table and allowed his former captain to pour him a cup. “Your division seems, as always, diligent in their work.”

“They know what’s important,” Ukitake answered with a soft smile. “Rukia was just updating us about the situation with your lieutenant. It seems you suspect one of the noble families is behind the attack?”

“Not just any family,” Byakuya answered. “Mine.”

“That’s worrisome,” Unohana said. “There doesn’t seem to be good reason for anyone in your clan to hold a grudge against your lieutenant.”

“I wouldn’t say  _ that _ ,” Rukia grumbled, then blushed upon realizing she’d said that out loud. “I mean, um, it’s just…a lot of people in our family clearly look down on Renji for his background. Um. Our background. So I could see them hating him just for that, although I don’t know why they’d want to murder him.”

“The plot thickens,” Ukitake mused.

“Have you completed your task, Rukia?” Byakuya asked, and his sister nodded.

“I tracked down Murata Kenji in District 14,” she said. “It’s just as we thought. A couple months ago, a man came to him in the morning just when he was opening up shop and offered him a large sum of money to close down and move home. Murata couldn’t see his face because he wore a mask, and when he refused at first, the man implied that certain…arrangements could be made regarding the shop as well as his grandchildren. He caved after that.”

Ukitake frowned. “A couple months ago? That implies significant premeditation.”

“And those reiryouku-binding chains aren’t exactly available on the free market,” Unohana added. “You’d need quite a bit of planning and time to acquire them. It’s fortunate indeed that Abarai managed to get out of them as quickly as he did. Despite his recovery, I still worry about long-term damage.”

“I am confident Yamada will be able to pick up on any ill effects,” Byakuya said.

In retrospect, he should not have been surprised by what happened next.

Anyone who knew anything about the Gotei 13 knew that Unohana Retsu was the epitome of calm competence. It was a requirement of her job, after all: with all the chaos that happened at the Fourth, shinigami presenting at all hours of the day with all sorts of creative ailments and terrible wounds, her complete incapacity to be surprised by anything was the solid foundation that kept her entire division from crumbling under the stress. Nothing ever ruffled her feathers or cracked her calm façade; the entirety of Soul Society could be coming apart at the seams, and Unohana would simply smile and make a comment about how she wished she had taken her laundry in earlier that day.

So when her teacup abruptly paused halfway to her lips and she said, simply, “Oh?” Byakuya instantly knew something was horribly wrong.

Both Rukia and Ukitake seemed to pick up on it as well by the way they stiffened. “Is something wrong, Retsu-san?” the white-haired captain asked.

Instead of answering him, Unohana looked at Byakuya. “And where, pray tell, is Hanatarou now?”

“He has been visiting us on a daily basis since Renji was discharged from your division,” Byakuya answered, even as something icy and terrible unfurled in his chest. “He is currently with my lieutenant, tending to his remaining injuries.”

“Now, that  _ is _ worrying,” Unohana said, setting her cup down, and something in the air changed: became sharper, heavier, “seeing as I never assigned Hanatarou to your lieutenant.”

The silence that settled in the room was truly awful. Rukia’s eyes went very wide, while something rose in Byakuya’s reiatsu, something, Ukitake imagined, reminiscent of the energy an animal might put out when cornered and confronted with death.

In the next instant, all three of the shinigami around his table vanished.

Left alone in the room, the captain of the Thirteenth sighed. “It’s going to be a long day.”

#

Byakuya burst into the Sixth Division lieutenant’s quarters with enough force to send the doors flying off their sliders, and discovered a nightmare.

Renji lay on the floor, limp and unmoving, skin an ashen gray as black, vein-like lines snaked all over his body, crisscrossing his tattoos as if he were a vase that had recently cracked. Hovering over him, hands still glowing with a sickly vomit-yellow energy, knelt Yamada Hanatarou, tears streaming down his face.

The attack happened in the blink of an eye: Byakuya shot forward, grabbed Hanatarou by the throat, and slammed him into the nearest wall. The young healer gave a yelp of pain but didn’t even attempt to fight, entire body trembling.

“Renji!” Rukia rushed past them and fell to her knees next to her childhood friend. “Oh, dear gods—Captain! Captain, you have to help him,  _ please _ —”

The rest of her words were lost in the cloud of red-tinted rage that obscured Byakuya’s vision as he tightened his hold around Hanatarou’s neck. The healer struggled for breath, eyes bulging out but he didn’t try to fight, arms remaining limp at his sides. Byakuya didn’t even think, already reaching out for Senbonzakura with his mind, hearing her spring up at his call, ready to exact his vengeance—

The sharp tip of a zanpakutou touched the base of his throat. “Kuchiki,” said Unohana, in a voice heavy with the weight of ages.

Byakuya didn’t even acknowledge her at first. His fingers squeezed Hanatarou’s fragile throat and he took vicious satisfaction in the terrified shudder that went through the young shinigami’s body, at the way he gasped desperately for air. Good; he knew Renji’s suffering. He knew what he’d done, he would  _ pay _ for what he’d—

“ _ Kuchiki _ .” The blade at his throat didn’t move, but something entered Unohana’s reiatsu then, something deep and ancient and dark as a rising hurricane. “Unhand my healer now or Renji dies.”

It did the trick. With a furious snarl and witnesses be damned, Byakuya stepped back and Hanatarou dropped to the floor. 

“Captain!” Rukia cried, high-pitched and desperate. Unohana lowered her sword, sending Byakuya an unreadable look before she joined Rukia crouched over Renji.

“Goodness,” she said, soft and patient once again. “He’s had a rough morning.”

She pressed her hands to Renji’s chest and concentrated. A pulsing warmth filled the room, powerful yet reassuring, not unlike sitting close to a roaring campfire. Unohana’s palms began to glow pink, and as Byakuya and Rukia watched the lines of poison in Renji’s body started to  _ move _ , drawn slowly up and out of his skin to gather in a wispy black yarn-like ball in Unohana’s hands. The captain of the Fourth let out a breath and clapped her palms abruptly together, dissipating the  _ kidou _ and the poison in one quick motion.

Half a second later, Renji jerked and coughed, gasping for breath even while still clearly unconscious. Rukia gave a tearful moan and hauled him into her arms. “Oh gods, you’re okay, thank the spirits,  _ Renji… _ ”

“Please kill me.”

They turned as one to regard Hanatarou, who prostrated himself before Byakuya, entire body trembling. The young healer moaned his next words straight into the floorboards. “Please, I’ve wronged you so deeply, please execute me, it’s the only way he’ll let her go…”

Before Byakuya could move to do just that, Unohana stood up. It was only his fellow captain’s stern look that kept Byakuya’s hand off his zanpakutou as she stepped forward to join him, peering down at Hanatarou with quiet curiosity. “That type of  _ kidou _ is forbidden,” she said. “Who taught it to you?”

At that, Hanatarou broke down completely. Byakuya barely made out his next words through the hitching wet sobs. “He’s going to kill her! He’s got her and he’s going to kill her when he finds out I failed!”

“Who is going to kill who?” Unohana asked.

“My baby sister!” And it was like floodgates had suddenly opened, words spilling from Hanatarou’s mouth in a jumbled stream. “The man—the man in the mask, he showed me Kazue’s hairband and he’s got her and he said if I didn’t learn the spell and use it to kill Renji then he’s going to carve her up until there isn’t even enough left to bury her and I was so s-scared and she’s my only family and please,  _ please _ , maybe if he thinks I tried but then you killed me he’ll spare her, I don’t know what else to do—”

“Stop talking,” Byakuya snapped, and Hanatarou’s mouth shut with an audible click. “This  _ kidou _ spell. The man in the mask taught it to you?”

“Y-Yes…he made me imitate him, made me practice over and over on d-dogs until I got it right.”

“Very well.” There was no denying he was still angry; a part of him even now wanted to draw Senbonzakura and impale Hanatarou to the ground, sister be damned. But Renji would never forgive him, Byakuya knew. And there was also the matter of the deep, awful suspicion that had unfurled at the back of his mind.

“Rukia.”

His sister lifted watery eyes, still squeezing Renji to her as if afraid he’d vanish if she released her grip. “Niisama?”

“Take Yamada to the human world,” he said. “Use our  _ senkaimon _ , but be discreet. I trust you know how to contact Shihouin Yoruichi?”

“Ah, yes, I do, but why…?”

Byakuya sighed and took a step back from Hanatarou, trying to calm the roiling storm of his emotions and the pounding of his heart. “I believe she would be quite pleased with the opportunity to participate in a rescue operation.”

The speed with which Hanatarou’s head snapped up might have been comical, if Byakuya had anything left in him to be amused. “You...You mean...?”

Byakuya said nothing. It was Rukia who at last gave Renji’s hand one final squeeze before getting to her feet and taking the younger shinigami by the arm. “Come on, Hanatarou. Let’s go get your sister.”

Hanatarou’s entire face crumpled and he looked ready to throw himself at Byakuya’s feet once more. They were all saved from that particular embarrassment, thankfully, by Rukia, who sent Byakuya a quick encouraging smile before gently but firmly hauling the healer from the room.

That left only Byakuya, Unohana, and Renji, still lying unconscious on the floor. The color had returned to his skin, however, and Byakuya felt some of the panic and ice-cold terror from before settle as he took a moment to focus on the steady rise and fall of his lover’s chest.

Then Unohana turned and fixed Byakuya with a kind smile. “I assume you’ll want to stay with him for a while,” she said, and didn’t seem to expect a response because she followed it up almost immediately with “I will inform the rest of your division that some peace and quiet is what Abarai needs right now. Take all the time you need.”

There was no trace of judgment in her voice, no censure or any hint of lingering anger from when she’d had her blade at his throat just a few moments ago. Byakuya was once again reminded of just how old and wise she was. Taking a step back, he bowed. “Thank you, Captain, for your discretion in this matter.”

“What matter?” Unohana’s smile grew just this side of mischievous. “As far as I’m concerned, there was merely a minor mishap with one of my staff and you are now debriefing your lieutenant in the privacy of his quarters. I see nothing notable about that.”

And with that she swept past him in a whisper of calm reiatsu and jasmine-scented perfume, waved her hand at the doors to send them flying back into position, and walked out. A moment later, the couple dozen spirit signatures gathered worriedly just down the hall abruptly retreated, the rest of the Sixth evidently buying into her reassurances.

Byakuya had just finished pulling the doors the rest of the way shut when a soft groan sounded out behind him. He turned and hurried to Renji, kneeling down to help his lover up to a seated position. Renji blinked, looking around in confusion. “What...?”

“Easy,” Byakuya answered, encouraging him to his feet so they could sit together on the bed. He couldn’t quite seem to let go of Renji though, wrapping his arms around his lover and pulling him close as Rukia had done just a moment ago. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

“What happened? Last thing I remember is sitting down so Hanatarou could do his thing. Did somebody attack? Is he okay?”

“You’re going to be quite disappointed in yourself,” Byakuya said, and told him.

When he’d finished, Renji just groaned, shifting sideways so he could rest his head on Byakuya’s shoulder. “Man. Almost done in by  _ Hanatarou _ . I’m never gonna live this down.”

There was something about his voice, though, that caught Byakuya’s attention, a sort of distractedness that implied he wasn’t really thinking much about Hanatarou or his latest near-death experience at all. He frowned and pulled Renji closer, feeling his lover curl a protective arm around his waist. “Renji?”

“Mm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Ah.” The arm around him tightened as Renji’s voice dropped low. “Thing is, one good thing did come out of that poor bastard tryin’ to end me.” Byakuya felt more than heard the deep breath he took. “I remember everything.”

He stiffened a bit, tightening his grip on instinct. “From that night?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

So Renji did.

#

_ Yeah, so he’s pretty pissed off. Can you blame him? Ass o’ clock in the morning and they want him to go pick up those goddamned brushes.  _ We cannot guarantee your item will stay in stock if you do not act quickly,  _ the hell butterfly had chirped at him.  _ We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience.

_ Isn’t the whole point of him placing a fucking order to make sure they reserve a set for him? These artisan-style merchants are a class of their own. Byakuya better be fucking  _ euphoric _ when Renji gives him the set later.  _

_ Except, he thinks as he continues down the street toward the address in the message, his captain could throw the brushes in his face and set them on fire and Renji would still be totally gone for him. It scares him sometimes, how much of himself is wrapped up in Byakuya now, so that it sometimes feels like Renji can’t even breathe if Byakuya isn’t there. It’s dangerous, and the exact opposite of everything he learned growing up in Inuzuri: everyone wants something, you can only trust yourself. He’s not supposed to love anyone so completely, so hopelessly, much less his commanding officer and the leader of one of the oldest, most powerful noble clans in the history of Soul Society. Somewhere up there, the gods are having a fantastic laugh. _

_ Even so, if he ever met them, Renji’s not sure he wouldn’t hug the hell out of them. He’s got Byakuya, not just as his captain but as his partner, his  _ everything _ , and gods but he’s never been happier. Half the time he still wakes up in the morning and thinks the whole thing must be some weird, sake-induced dream, that surely someone as sophisticated and beautiful and strong as Kuchiki Byakuya would never love a street mongrel like him. But then he’ll get into the office and Byakuya will send him that soft, private smile, or he’ll take a mission report from Renji and deliberately brush their fingers together, or he’ll be waiting in the lieutenant’s quarters after the mess has closed with warm hands and hungry kisses and it is all Renji can manage not to just curl up and cry with how fucking  _ grateful _ he is to have this, his captain, his Luna, once so far out of reach and now irrevocably  _ his _ , always and forever. _

_ It’s why he’s here now, even though it’s two in the goddamned morning and he’s about ready to fall asleep standing up. Watching the slow, pleased smile break out on his lover’s face will be so worth it. He’ll just take care of this real quick and then head home— _

_ The blow comes out of nowhere. Pain explodes in the back of his head, sending him to his knees with a cry but instinct kicks in immediately. Even as things go fuzzy at the edges of his vision he strikes out blind, feels the flash-burn of agony in his knuckles as they make contact with teeth. Somebody grunts and Renji spins, sends his reiatsu flying outward on instinct because he hasn’t got Zabimaru, why the fuck did he leave his sword— _

_ Something hits him again, a sickening  _ crunch _ of impact, and he goes away for a while. _

_ When he wakes, it’s dark. He groans, tries to move but can’t, something cold and metal coiled all around his wrists and ankles. He’s bound like a goddamned pig and everything just feels distant and  _ off _ , like he isn’t himself, like something’s missing…he tries to reach out with his reiatsu but moans when that only brings a fresh wave of dizziness. Fuck. What the hell is going on?  _

_ “Abarai-san.” The voice floats out of the darkness as if muffled behind some sort of screen, low and gravelly. It takes a worrying amount of effort to lift his head, his body so goddamned heavy and  _ weak _ , but he manages it, glaring at the man standing a few feet away. He can’t make out anything of his clothes with only the faint moonlight coming in through the windows to see by, and he’s wearing a gray mask that covers his entire face, only his eyes visible underneath, cold and calculating. A couple of other masked figures stand flanking him, but it’s clear they’re small fry, henchmen. This guy calls the shots. _

_ “The fuck d’you want?” he growls, but it sounds shaky even to his ears. He’s still dizzy and the whole room is spinning; it takes all his effort not to throw up. _

_ The masked man ignores him completely. “It’s unfortunate things had to come to this,” he says, as the dim moonlight glints off something he draws from within the folds of his robes and—oh,  _ shit. _ That’s a knife, six inches and serrated, made for killing. Fucking hell. _

_ “You seem like a decent person, some recent conduct notwithstanding,” the man continues, conversational, as if he’s just discussing the weather. “Maybe you’ll understand. I do this for the greater good, after all. For posterity.” _

_ Strong hands abruptly seize Renji by the hair, fresh pain exploding in his scalp as he is yanked bodily upward to a kneeling position. He tries to move, to throw them off but those ice-cold chains hold him back, leeching out all his energy, leaving him utterly helpless as the man approaches and kneels down in front of him. _

_ Those dark eyes bore into him from behind the mask, utterly cold, two lifeless marbles glinting with only one goal. “You’ll be the ruin of us all.” _

_ The knife is so sharp, Renji doesn’t feel any pain at first when it sinks into his gut. It’s more surprise than anything else, a startled “Guh!” forced out of him by the sudden pressure in his stomach, and he doesn’t even have time to realize what’s happened before the man grips the knife and  _ pulls _ , and shit fucking hell, Renji feels  _ that _. _

_Red-hot agony erupts across his belly and the sound he makes is high-pitched and animalistic. The stench of blood fills the air and he tastes it in the back of his throat, bubbling up and he’s choking on it, choking on_ his own fucking blood _because the bastard’s cut him open, gutted him like meat…_

_ Everything’s gone fuzzy again, but he knows it’s not just the chains now. He’s bleeding out. He’s gonna die here, put down like some stray dog in the darkness, and Byakuya— _

_ Byakuya. _

_ The man grabs his chin and forces him up, and the movement sets the room spinning again but there’s no mistaking the coldness of those dark eyes. The knife gleams in the half-dark, covered in blood and larger bits he doesn’t want to think about, and he moves on instinct. This won’t work, he’s got no reiryouku, but he’ll be damned if he goes down without a fight. _

_ “I will give you the honor of a quick death,” the man says, placing the knife at his throat, but Renji isn’t even listening anymore. _

_ If this kills him, at least Byakuya will know he is no coward. _

_ He uses no incantation, wouldn’t know one even if his mouth hadn’t already filled up with blood. He just reaches deep inside himself and grabs at whatever he can find, any power left that hasn’t already been sucked out by those chains, and yanks on it as hard as he can while he simply thinks,  _ Explode.

_ And, after a half-second stutter and a sudden rush of searing heat, the world does. _

_ Fire and everywhere light—the force of it sends him flying, crashing through the nearest wall. Everything is aflame: the building, his clothes, a blistering agony boiling down his flank but he ignores it because the chains are gone, he’s free and alive, and he forces himself up and takes the first quick leap— _

_ Two, three— _

_ Then his foot catches on something solid and the ground flies up and he has just enough time to think  _ I’m so sorry, Luna _ before everything disappears. _

#

They were silent for a long time after Renji finished. Byakuya’s entire body shook with rage as the red mist from before began encroaching on the edges of his world once more. Renji lifted his head and grabbed his hand, squeezing firmly. “Luna. What’d I say about that killing intent?”

Byakuya heard him, of course, but still it was a struggle. It wasn’t until Renji sighed and used his reiatsu to give him an insistent tug that Byakuya finally forced his own spiritual energy back into place. Even then, a couple of the windows cracked.

Renji smiled. It was lopsided and far too tired to be convincing. “Guess I should try my best from now on not to die. Fucks up our entire repairs budget.”

“I am going to kill everyone in my fucking family,” Byakuya informed him.

“No, you’re not. Too much paperwork.”

“ _ Renji. _ ”

“Luna.” Renji sighed and curled into him, seeking a comfort he so rarely asked for that Byakuya couldn’t help but gather him in, the anger from before vanishing quickly beneath love and concern. And really, why shouldn’t it work that way? Renji always found a way to make him better than Byakuya could ever manage on his own.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your vocabulary just now,” his lieutenant mumbled from somewhere in the vicinity of Byakuya’s collarbone, “but I just almost got murdered the second time this week, my head hurts like a bitch, and I’m fuckin’ beat. Can I just nap on you for a while and we’ll save the mass Kuchiki murder for later? I’ll put it on my calendar and everything.”

Byakuya shook his head with a soft chuckle. It didn’t fix what had happened, and the fury still simmered at the edges of his consciousness, glinting dangerously like Senbonzakura’s petals. But Renji needed him right now, and after the past week, Byakuya would never put anything before him again.

“Yes,” he said, pressing a kiss to his lieutenant’s hair, “but Renji?”

“Hm?”

“I need to ask a favor.”

#

The Kuchiki Elder Council meeting began that evening the same as always. Hashida, ever conscientious, was the first to arrive, nodding kindly at the servants as they finished preparing tea. Itsuo and Keishi arrived a few minutes later, always managing to look harried and put-upon even though this meeting had been repeating on their schedules for decades, and just before the hour struck Michio dragged himself in, greeting them all with grunts and smelling, as always, faintly of sake.

The only thing that stood out was that Byakuya, usually punctual, was not present. In fact, it wasn’t until about five minutes later (during which Itsuo sighed impatiently six times and Michio began to snore) that their clan Head finally swept in, and immediately all in the room knew something was wrong.

He wasn’t alone. Abarai Renji entered the room a step behind, uniform immaculate, zanpakutou sheathed at his waist. He didn’t look at any of them, merely assuming a spot just past his superior’s left shoulder. Byakuya himself did not move to sit as the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

“Forgive our tardiness,” he said, but didn’t elaborate.

Keishi sneered. “You seem to have tracked something in with you from outside.”

Byakuya did not even look at him. “My lieutenant’s presence here is relevant.”

“This is family business,” Itsuo hissed, scandalized. “He has no right—”

“With all due respect, Great-Aunt,” Byakuya said, “shut up.”

Stunned silence filled the room, broken only by the gentle  _ shhrp _ of Hashida sipping from his cup. Before anyone could say anything, however, the side door slid open once again, admitting two figures.

Yamada Hanatarou looked like he’d had a rough year. His uniform was unkempt, hair sticking up in all directions, and dust and sweat streaked his face. Standing next to him, Kuchiki Rukia didn’t look much better; in fact, they both appeared to have just recently gotten out of quite a scuffle. Even so, the twin looks they sent Byakuya almost ached with relief, and Hanatarou himself looked like a thousand-year weight had just been lifted from his shoulders.

Byakuya himself felt some of the tension leave his body. He hadn’t been sure they would succeed, but he never should have doubted Yoruichi. Though his childhood friend was not present, he made a note to send something nice and decadent to a certain shop in the human world within the next week.

Right now, however, he had more important things to do.

“Yamada,” he said.

Hanatarou obediently stepped forward. “Sir.”

Byakuya took a deep breath. “Identify the person in this room who has a familiar spirit signature. The one who tried to kill my lieutenant.”

He was counting on this. The man who’d attacked Renji and kidnapped Yamada Kazue had spent a considerable amount of time forcing Hanatarou to learn the poison  _ kidou _ . He could only have done so by having Hanatarou track him as he performed the spell himself, and if the healer was any sort of good shinigami, he would have used the opportunity to read and memorize the distinct pattern of the man’s reiatsu. If he hadn’t…

But he needn’t have worried. There was no hesitation, no nervousness at all as Hanatarou turned, lifted his arm, and pointed. 

Itsuo and Keishi gasped and fell into horrified whispers. Rukia’s reiatsu flared, furious, while Renji’s remained a solid, stable pillar of energy at Byakuya’s back. 

Across the room, as Hanatarou indicated him, Kuchiki Hashida set his teacup down and released an exhausted sigh, as if he had just finished a very long day.

The next few moments happened very fast. Byakuya’s eyes narrowed as his reiatsu darkened with rage, and he vanished. “Niisama!” Rukia cried as Hanatarou stumbled back, but already her brother was across the room, Senbonzakura flashing in the light.

The tip of Byakuya’s zanpakutou stopped an inch away from Hashida’s throat.

Renji stood pressed almost chest-to-chest against his captain, one hand on Byakuya’s arm, the other wrapping firm fingers around Senbonzakura’s hilt, stopping her from stabbing Hashida through the neck. Everyone could see the way the sword trembled with strain, although they couldn’t tell if it was because of Byakuya or Renji, the former pushing forward, the other holding back.

When Renji spoke, his voice was low but firm. “No.”

Still seated on his cushion, completely unperturbed by the blade at his throat, Hashida hummed. “He cleans up all your messes, I see.”

Something terrible and furious twisted Byakuya’s face. “Scatter—”

“ _ No. _ ” Renji took a half-step to the side, bringing himself directly in front of Byakuya, blocking his view of his treacherous uncle. “ _ Luna. _ Don’t.”

Byakuya’s eyes slid slowly to him and he sighed. “Don’t you dare waste a single blade on someone like him,” he said. “Not on my account.”

And gods, but Byakuya almost did it anyway. Renji couldn’t stop him; no one in the room could, and all he had to do was tell Senbonzakura  _ yes _ and she would obey him, would fly up and rip Hashida apart piece by traitorous, slimy piece. It would be easy. It would be  _ glorious. _

But then he saw the look in Renji’s eyes, the way his lover’s grip on his arm spasmed just a bit with strain. Renji was asking. And in this, as in all things, Byakuya could not refuse.

Though it was one of the hardest things he had ever done, he lowered his blade from his uncle’s throat and took a step back. His voice when he spoke startled even himself, however, it was so utterly betrayed. “ _ Why? _ ”

Hashida sighed and folded his hands in his lap. “It was not personal.”

“ _ Felt _ pretty damned personal,” Renji growled, retreating out of Byakuya’s way but notably keeping his grip on his arm.

“I apologize if it came across that way.” Hashida turned to Byakuya, and for the first time real censure entered his voice. “You are not as discreet with your midnight dalliances as you think you are, Nephew.”

This prompted a fresh round of whispering from Itsuo and Keishi. Hashida ignored them. “Three months ago, on one of my customary late-night walks through the estate, I came across you and your lieutenant sharing…a moment. I’m sure neither one of you noticed me. You seemed rather preoccupied at the time.”

A flicker of shame went through Byakuya, an automatic response from a lifetime of indoctrination and harsh lessons. In the next instant, though, Renji squeezed his arm, and the feeling dissipated. “That does not explain your attempt to murder him.”

“As I said, it wasn’t personal,” Hashida said. “I have the utmost respect for your work, Lieutenant. You are an admirable fighter and leader.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“It is a problem of the continuation of the clan.” Hashida turned to the other Council members, and it wasn’t clear whether he sought support from them or was simply being pedagogic. “As you know, our numbers dwindle year after year. Not only that, but Byakuya-sama has yet to produce an heir to continue the line. And now that he has taken up not only with someone from lower society but a man, our family is all but guaranteed to die out.”

_ You’ll be the ruin of us all, _ he’d said to Renji, just before cutting him open.

No one seemed inclined to respond. Rukia and Hanatarou hovered in the doorway; his sister had her lips pressed together in a thin line, as if just barely refraining from giving their uncle a colorful, expletive-laden idea of exactly what she thought of his reasoning. Byakuya didn’t trust himself not to leap straight for Hashida’s throat once more, witnesses and family be damned.

Hashida may have taken their silence as agreement, or he simply wanted to speak while he still could. “I have always placed our family above all else, and I will continue to do so until the day I die,” he said. “I had no choice. If our clan is to persist, Byakuya-sama must marry and produce an heir. The only way to guarantee that was to remove Abarai from the picture.” 

He lifted his head then and fixed Byakuya with a long look, and it took a considerable amount of effort not to shudder at the coldness there. Here was the man who had kidnapped a young girl and used her to threaten an adolescent to murder. Here was the man who had masterminded an attack against his lieutenant, beat him, tied him down, and sliced him open without remorse.

“If I were given the chance,” Hashida said, each word clinical and dead, “I would do it again.”

There was a conviction in his voice that spoke of true belief, and in the face of that, Byakuya couldn’t even fathom a reply. What could he say? From a certain point of view, he understood Hashida’s reasoning. Clan births  _ had  _ fallen over the last few decades, and he and Hisana had been unsuccessful in producing a child. But to put that on  _ Renji _ , whose only crime was to dare to love Byakuya...?

And then next to him Renji straightened up and growled, “You are such a fuckin’  _ idiot. _ ”

If a freight train being derailed could be encompassed in a facial expression, that was how one might describe the look on Hashida’s face. All eyes, including Byakuya’s, turned to Renji incredulously as his lieutenant placed his hands on his hips.

“You think having Byakuya marry some random woman he doesn’t know to produce a kid he doesn’t care about is going to save your clan? Here’s a news flash: he’s only known me for a couple years. Don’t you think if it were that easy, this place would be fucking  _ swarming _ with his spawn by now?”

Hashida, well, spluttered. “That is not—”

“Yeah, you can shut the fuck up.” Renji shook his head, and his exasperated sigh reminded Byakuya surreally of the times when he got fed up with the recruits not getting their  _ kata _ right. “Listen. When your clan Head wants to produce an heir, he’ll get right on it. Yeah, I don’t got the equipment, but how fucking hard do you think it is to get a surrogate? Especially someone willing to carry a  _ Kuchiki  _ child? You’ll be driving ‘em off your lawn with a stick.”

He turned then to address the rest of the Council, all of whom looked varying ranges of scandalized and constipated. “The problem here isn’t with me, or with Byakuya. It’s with you lot. You all cling so hard to your precious texts and ancient family traditions, your fucking  _ insane _ need to keep things the way they are. Will you get it into your thick skulls? Just because it’s worked in the past  _ doesn’t mean it’s your only option. _ ”

His reiatsu flared then, but it wasn’t anger, just annoyance tinged with a distinct flavor of  _ I can’t even. _ “Your clan isn’t going to fail because of me,” he said. “Your clan is going to fail because you’re all a bunch of  _ stubborn assholes. _ ”

Silence.

Byakuya stared at Renji, uncaring that he probably looked like a recently landed fish. His lieutenant, for his part, just turned to continue glaring at Hashida, entire being screaming how very  _ done _ he was with this whole business. The Kuchiki in question opened and closed his mouth several times, but no sound came out. Somewhere near the door, Rukia made a soft snorting noise that sounded suspiciously like a quickly-suppressed giggle.

When it became clear he wasn’t going to get a response out of Hashida, Renji turned back to Byakuya, expression going a bit sheepish. “Sorry. Had to get that off my chest.”

“That is...fine.” Byakuya nodded at him and stepped forward to regard his uncle once more. Hashida had drawn himself up straight on his cushion, and his eyes still glittered when they returned Byakuya’s look, but there was something different about him now. Whereas before, when he had righteousness billowing out behind him like a captain’s  _ haori _ , he had seemed larger than life, wise and cunning, now he just looked small. And very, very old.

Byakuya took a deep breath. “Out of deference to my—partner,” he said, only hesitating a bit on the designation, “I will not execute you for your crimes. Instead, I propose to the Council full excommunication and banishment from the clan for an indefinite period. Who supports?”

It was a risky move. It was no secret what his family members thought of Renji, and Hashida had a reputation within the clan, not to mention a tenure much longer than Byakuya’s own. If the other Council members wouldn’t back him...

The soft rustle of expensive cloth, followed by a grunt. “I support.”

It was a fair bet most everyone in the room had forgotten Kuchiki Michio was even present. As Byakuya turned to stare, his drunken uncle readjusted himself on his cushion and belched softly behind his hand. His eyes when he looked at Byakuya, however, were completely sober. “I have no desire to continue being a...stubborn asshole,” he said, with just a hint of a smile.

A bit of the apprehension receded, replaced by relief, but the ball of tension between Byakuya’s shoulders remained. They needed a majority. He turned to his great-aunt and uncle who, aside from Keishi having knocked his teacup over when Byakuya shot across the room, sat without a hair out of place with matching stone faces.

His great-uncle glanced at Renji and sneered. “If you think for one second—”

“I support,” said his wife.

Rukia’s bewildered “Buh?” was probably the best auditory analogue to the look of utter shock and confusion that came over Keishi’s face. Next to him, Itsuo lifted her chin, bypassing Renji completely to fix Byakuya with a look of true and absolute contempt.

“Do not misunderstand me,” she sniffed. “I still believe your lieutenant to be so far below our station as to be negligible. He is uncouth and poor and  _ exceedingly _ rude, and his complete lack of culture will require the  _ utmost instruction. _ ”

She pursed her lips and turned her glare abruptly on Hashida. “However, there are appropriate channels for resolving these types of situations without lowering ourselves to the level of animals. We are sophisticates, Nephew, not savages. Perhaps that is a lesson you will only learn without the coddling of our family.”

Hashida said nothing. His entire body had begun to tremble, perhaps with fear, more likely with rage. Byakuya swallowed his own surprise and overwhelming relief and straightened up. “Kuchiki Hashida,” he said. “Effective immediately, you are stripped of all title, rank, and holdings and expelled from the clan. You have one hour to gather your personal effects before the guards escort you from the premises.”

He glanced at Renji, who looked a little flabbergasted himself, and thought,  _ This is for you. _

“You are hereby banished to District 78 of the Rukongai, also known as Inuzuri.” As Renji spun on him with wide eyes and Rukia gasped, Byakuya continued in an even voice, “If you are somehow able to survive long enough to make it back to the Seireitei, know that you will have managed to regain a sliver of my grudging respect before I kill you myself.”

Hashida had turned pale. “You...” he said, as a drop of sweat edged down the side of his face. “You...”

Byakuya turned away. “Goodbye, Uncle.”

He waved a hand, and several flashes of deep purple announced the arrival of the estate guards. It took no time at all: some rustling, a shaky breath that could only have come from Hashida, and a few moments later they were gone.

Byakuya was left standing in the middle of the room, Senbonzakura still held loosely in his hand. A wall of tension and silence settled around him, and he felt the weight of exhaustion like a physical thing. It was over. It was done. 

He could feel all eyes in the room on him, awaiting his next move. Nobody said anything, and he realized abruptly that he had never felt so lost. For the past week, all his thoughts had been consumed by Renji: first the brutal attack, then his recovery at the Fourth, then working furiously to track down the culprit while simultaneously making sure his lover was safe. Now that the truth had been revealed and Hashida was gone, Byakuya felt all of a sudden directionless, as if he’d been streaking meteor-like through the atmosphere nonstop for the past few days and all of a sudden burnt into nothing.

Then a warm hand settled between his shoulders, and he turned in time for Renji to step close, everything in Byakuya orienting without thought to his lover’s scent and strong presence. When Renji spoke, however, he addressed the room at large. “I think that’s enough drama for one day,” he said, and his hand never moved from Byakuya’s back. “I’ve got no idea how this works, but let’s basically just call it a night, okay?”

Michio cleared his throat. “It’s called adjournment,” he said, with a hint of amusement. “As in, you respectfully request this meeting be adjourned. One of the many things I imagine you’ll be expected to learn in the coming months.”

“Right. Well. What he said, then.”

The room seemed to accept that because movement started up again. Keishi leaned close to Itsuo and began to whisper in her ear, but she just rolled her eyes, huffed, and swept from the room in a cloud of lingering indignation. Michio picked at a stain on the sleeve of his kimono. Across the room, Hashida’s empty cushion lay bare and accusing.

Byakuya turned away from it and Renji was immediately there, voice dropped low just for the two of them. “Come on. Let’s go before they get their sanity back.”

They passed Hanatarou and Rukia on the way out; the former bowed low, trembling, while the latter sent them a smile that was watery but warm. 

There was something distinctly freeing about walking the halls of the estate with Renji by his side, no longer having to watch for a gossipy servant or pair of prying eyes around every corner. Even so, Byakuya felt utterly exhausted by the time they finally reached his private rooms, standing and blinking stupidly at the furniture as Renji slid the door shut quietly behind them.

His lover came up and pressed a gentle palm to the back of his neck. “Sit.”

Byakuya obeyed without protest, sinking down onto the soft futon. Renji joined him a moment later, gentle hands reaching up to undo the  _ kenseikan _ from his hair.

After a moment, Byakuya sighed and closed his eyes. “You should leave me.”

The fingers in his hair paused for a half-second before continuing with their task. Renji didn’t say anything, so Byakuya forced himself to continue, each word burning as it worked its way up his throat and out his mouth. “After what happened, knowing the extents my family will go to to hurt you...you shouldn’t have any association with me.”

Renji hummed, yet still said nothing. Byakuya’s own voice began to shake. “I will write whatever recommendations you like, to transfer to a different division, or even take up a captaincy if you wish. Or if you choose to resign your commission, I can make arrangements for you to stay in another part of the Seireitei. I would resign myself, were it possible.”

The last of the  _ kenseikan _ lifted free of his hair, set down on the tatami floor with a soft  _ put. _ Byakuya swallowed. “Renji?”

“You’re right.”

Warm hands cupped his shoulders, sliding down the dark fabric. “Any sane person would take one look at what just happened and run screaming for the hills,” Renji continued.

His breath washed warm over Byakuya’s ear with each word, enough to send a shiver through his body even as something ice-cold and devastated pierced his gut. He bit his lip and curled forward, readying himself for the pain that was about to come, the agony of Renji leaving him for good.

Then, abruptly, Renji’s hands slid down to curl around his waist, drawing him back against a warm, solid body as his lover dropped his chin to his shoulder. “Guess it’s lucky I’m pretty much crazy for you, huh?”

Byakuya turned to stare at him so quickly he very nearly bashed Renji’s cheek with his chin. His lover just grumbled and tried to get close again, but Byakuya stopped him with his hands on his chest, forcing him back. “No.”

“Hm?” Renji said. “No cuddling, or no relationship? Because if it’s the first, yeah, okay, probably not all noble-like to feel you up with your grand-whatevers just down the hall.”

“Renji—”

“But if it’s the second, I’m afraid I’m gonna have to ask you to kindly shut the fuck up, Captain.”

Byakuya stared. Renji sighed, but despite the looseness and relaxation of his posture, hands still resting lightly on Byakuya’s hips, his eyes glinted with resolve. “Remember what I said back there? Stubborn assholes, and that includes you. You think when I first got into this with you that I didn’t know it was gonna be hard? That it was gonna get really fucking shitty sometimes? Because I don’t know if you know this, but your family makes the Eleventh look like a fucking afternoon tea party.”

And before Byakuya could digest  _ that _ alarming comparison, Renji reached up to brush gentle fingers through his hair, expression nothing but soft. “So yeah, I expected something like this. Well, not the almost-dying part, could’ve done without that bit, but I figured somebody in your clan wasn’t gonna be happy with me. Thing is, I’m not in this for your family. I’m in this for you. And after I just finished giving that old grandma of yours a stroke by telling ‘em how they need to change their ways, do you think I’m gonna let you do what you always do and get rid of something good just because it scares you?”

Byakuya swallowed. Gods, how did Renji do it? How was he able to be so insightful and accepting and  _ wonderful _ , and still choose Byakuya of all people? “But...I don’t want to lose you.”

“Then don’t break up with me, you dolt.” Renji shook his head, cupping Byakuya’s cheek. “You ain’t getting rid of me that easily, Luna. I’m in it for the long haul, whether you like it or not.”

Byakuya stared at him, this man whom he loved and respected and cared for above all else, and who, despite all the logical laws of the universe, returned all those sentiments with interest. He shouldn’t. This was not how it was supposed to be.

He opened his mouth and meant to give another reason why Renji should leave him, why this would end in nothing but disaster for them both. But what came out instead was “Marry me.”

That did the trick: Renji reared back, startled. “What?”

And yes, he hadn’t meant to say that at all, but now that it was out there…strange. Byakuya felt nothing but  _ right _ . “Abarai Renji. Marry me.”

His lover shook his head, looking vaguely hunted. “Now I know you’ve lost your mind.”

“The only thing I have lost is any desire to spend the rest of my life without you.”

And something of his conviction must have come through because Renji paused and turned to face him fully. “You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

It wasn’t accusing, not really, but something in the tension of Renji’s shoulders and the cautiousness of his expression told Byakuya his next words would determine not just Renji’s answer, but the course of their entire relationship from this point forward.

It should have been difficult. It should have required thought or hesitation or careful planning, but in the end, this was  _ Renji _ : his lieutenant, his second, his partner in all things. So it was easy.

“Because the man I become when I’m with you is someone I am proud of,” Byakuya said. “Because you  _ make _ me better, and I hope I do the same for you. Because you call me the moon, but a moon cannot shine without light from a nearby sun.”

He reached for Renji’s hand, bringing it up to brush a kiss over freshly-scarred knuckles. “Renji. Please. Be my sun.”

His lover said nothing for a long time. Byakuya kept his eyes closed, Renji’s hand pressed to his lips, and though he had never deigned to describe himself as patient, tonight, right now, he tried. Renji deserved this, deserved everything Byakuya could offer and then infinite things after that. It was time.

Outside the night continued on, the chittering call of insects and the soft babbling of the river winding through the courtyard. Somebody in the distance—Hanatarou, most likely—said something in a low, grateful voice, followed shortly by the click of the front gate. Soul Society fell slowly into slumber, unaware of the astronomical event Byakuya had just set in motion.

Then, at long last, Renji’s fingers twitched, then moved to cup his chin. Byakuya looked up into his lover’s smile, warm and accepting as always. “I’m not gonna be able to tell anyone this story,” Renji said. “No one’s ever gonna believe you’re such a fuckin’  _ sap. _ ”

Byakuya’s heart stuttered in his chest. “That…is a yes, then?”

Renji snorted, but there was a joy in his eyes, an infinite devotion, an echo of coming home. “Never could say no to you,” he grumbled, and kissed him.

Byakuya grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him close, laughing into his lips, and it might have been a little watery but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Renji wouldn’t judge him for it, he knew. Renji was here to stay.

The future wouldn’t be easy. They still had Byakuya’s clan to deal with, as well as the Gotei and the rest of Soul Society. Even without all that, they would still butt heads, they would still needle and argue and get into truly spectacular fights, some bad enough to result in bruised bodies as well as egos. Renji would never respect the aristocracy simply because they had done nothing to earn it, and Byakuya would always find the scrappy stubbornness of the Rukongai to be more annoying than endearing. They would get on each other’s nerves and bite and cut and bleed, because that was the nature of things.

But they would also fight, and kill, and die for each other. Byakuya would hold Renji close during his nightmares, whispering soft words of comfort into his hair. Renji would sit at his side at clan meetings—pointedly without  _ kenseikan _ —and quietly but firmly redirect the discussion whenever he sensed Byakuya’s reiatsu darkening with stress or exhaustion. They would command the Sixth together, a partnership in all definitions of the term, and Byakuya would learn to make  _ taiyaki  _ and Renji would get surprisingly good at composing  _ haiku _ , and they would love each other, fiercely and without end, because that was also the nature of things.

So Byakuya drew Renji close and kissed him with everything he had, and he didn’t wonder about the future, didn’t worry or plan or focus on anything but the warmth of his lover in his arms. Because Renji would be here, for better or for worse, and that was all Byakuya could ask for.

They had a  _ forever _ . And it was enough.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Regarding translations:** All my works, including this one, can be translated without first asking my express permission. I ask only that you credit me as the original author and provide a link back to the original work. For anything other than translations, please ask first. Thanks.


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